Chapter Twelve

Nila

8 years later

Patient: Jonathan Ross

Patient shows lack of emotion and no regard whatsoever pertaining to his previous victims. When sent to me, patient had recently been paroled after a seven-year sentence for rape. Warden and Parole Board believed him to be rehabilitated. With the utter lack of remorse he has shown under my care, I believe that to be untrue.

Men are mindless, sadistic drones who only think with their hard-ons, I thought as I listened to my patient ramble about how his urges had become more prominent lately, playing at the forefront of his brain.

Sent to me eight months earlier—believed to have been rehabilitated in prison but still needing some extra care—Jonathan Ross was now on a tangent about how he longed to taste another victim. For eight months, he’d put up a good charade, but as with every man I came across in this room, I had my ways of getting them to speak. A kind word here, a patient soul, a trusting look. Soon, they were spilling all their secrets and I was taking advantage of it, playing the part for my own needs.

As he spoke, I pictured what I would do to him once I got my hands on him. How I would do to him what he’d done to his victim.

“I slash a smile across her face so that even in death she smiles.”

The sick bastard got his rocks off on shit like this, and I had to listen to his confession as I bit back the darkness that threatened to overcome me.

Play the part, Nila. In order for things to go accordingly, you must play the part. You are Nila Winters, therapist. You have friends. You have family. You are happy.

So I played the part.

“I want to taste her blood. I want to feel it flowing through my fingers, warm, pungent. I need it.”

“Jonathan, we’ve talked about this before. You spent seven years at Metropolitan Correctional Center. You know why. Do you really want to risk everything you’ve worked for in the last few months to throw it all away on a fantasy?”

“Miss Winters, you don’t understand. The urges are taking over me. The voices in my mind are telling me I have to do this. I have to.”

He was wrong though. I did understand. More than most people would.

“Jonathan, you don’t have to. It’s your mind playing tricks on you. You’ve worked so hard to stay on the correct path since your release. I would hate to see you lose sight of that.”

“I know, Miss Winters.”

“Our time is up for today, but I want to schedule you again for this Wednesday so we can get control of these urges before you act on them.”

“Okay. Thank you.”

Crossing one leg over the other, my black Calvin Klein dress stretched along my thigh as I updated my patient notes. I knew Vanessa, my receptionist, would soon be sending in my final patient before my day was finished. Day in and day out, I had to hear people spill their confessions. And each one of them would always tell me the same: I didn’t understand.

But I did.

Once upon a time, I was Alana Masters. I was a girl who had a bright future, a beautiful smile, and a family. Then, I was Alana. Slave. Prisoner. Victim. Girlfriend to Master’s son. Once I escaped the clutches of my captor, I was free. And after the nightmare of the trial was over, I changed my name and moved to get away from my past, from the weight of it. I started over as Nila Winters, but the darkness from that nightmare never left me.

Now, I heard patients open their mouths and tell me their dirty desires, the secrets they were ashamed to have. I had to hear in graphic detail what they did to victims or what they would like to do. And I had to do it all while pretending nothing fazed me. That I was the good little therapist doing as I was trained to do.

I was lost in thought, and Vanessa’s voice was exasperated by the time I heard it on the intercom.

“Nila, your four o’clock is here.”

“Send him in.”

Pasting a smile on my face, I rose to greet my newest client before settling in once more to hear all about the darkness rising in him.

Samuel Edwards, I can’t wait to hear your confessions.

Locking up, I headed to my car. The beautiful, red Mazda MX-5 Miata was a gem. I slid onto the cool, leather seats and started the engine. It purred like a dream. I thought about Jonathan and his confession earlier in my office. Something will have to be done about him. I was smiling as I made my way to Alejandro’s Restaurant to meet some acquaintances for dinner.

I always had to think of appearances.

Emma Lane was a wedding planner. Sweet but naïve, Emma was a firm believer in love and romance despite being left at the altar four years earlier. Stupid girl.

Milly Roberts was a designer, a successful one at that. She designed clothes in high school and went on to open her own boutique after college. Her business was booming. Still, she tended to talk too much, and it irritated me.

It was useful, however, to be marginally normal in society. Having women I could meet up with regularly helped, though they weren’t ones I called on my days off or hung out with any other time. Typically, these dinners could turn into referrals. But to the outside world, I was coping and developing lasting relationships. I wasn’t wallowing in my past and finding it difficult to trust outsiders. After college, I more than understood the psychotherapy of my issues and the standard treatments that would be prescribed. I also knew none of those things would help me. I needed something darker, more twisted, to settle my heart, but those things weren’t excepted in society. Most people never understood trauma sometimes damaged one’s psyche so much that it fundamentally changed who they were.

I was one of those people.

Arriving at the restaurant, I spotted Emma right away. She looked lovely in a floral sundress, but she always did. A petite brunette, Emma was a classic beauty with starlet looks.

“Where is Mills?”

“Late. As usual.”

She was right about that. Milly was horrible about getting anywhere on time. In all the time I’d known her, she never once arrived before Emma or me.

“Sorry. Sorry. I’m here!” Milly came running up beside us. A redhead with the most vibrant green eyes I had ever seen, Mills was eccentric and boasted a big personality. Dressed in a violet silk button-up and black dress pants, she looked absolutely amazing.

“Now that the gang is all here, let’s get seated,” Emma said.

Once seated, we all ordered our usuals. For me, it was the chef’s salad. For Milly, it was always the lemon poppy seed pancakes, while Emma preferred the Reuben.

“Emma, how’s the planning for the Waincroft wedding going?”

“Slowly. They each have such different opinions that it’s hard to narrow down anything with them. I’ve had to change the plans three times already.”

“Aw, Ems, that sucks,” said Milly.

“Yeah, but I’ll get through it. I always do.”

“Too true. How’s work, Nila?”

“Don’t ask. Seriously. I had a session with a new client and literally wanted to pull out my hair and bash my head against the wall.”

“That good, huh? I don’t know how you do it, Nila. I really don’t,” Emma’s voice rang out.

“Some days, neither do I. Mills, what about you?”

“Well … I’ve been wanting to tell you guys, but I was waiting until I officially knew,” started Milly, her voice full of eagerness. “I’m organizing a fashion show for my line. It’s a few weeks from now, and I think I may have pulled enough strings to get some talent there to perform while my ladies walk the runway.”

“Oh, Mills! That’s wonderful,” I said.

“That’s so great!” Emma added.

It hurt to smile so brightly. Before I could ask another question, our waitress brought our plates and we all went about eating. Forty-five minutes later, food and the last of our coffees gone, we all said goodnight and headed for our respective homes.

Making my way home, I pulled into the drive and shut off the ignition. My house was a fortress. As long as I could get inside, I had a safe haven. I gripped my keys by the pepper spray bottle hanging from them and head to the door.

Unlocking the house, I entered, immediately silenced the alarm system, and turned the lights on. My cat, a black, green-eyed horse named Neko, came slinking up to me. He was my companion. When I had no one else to talk to, he was who I shared my secrets with. The great thing was he couldn’t speak back or judge me.

Heading upstairs with Neko in my arms, I came to my bedroom and pushed the door open. After placing him on my bed, I went to my closet and pulled out a pair of black leggings and a black, tight-fitting, long-sleeve shirt before pulling my hair into a bun. Step one to preparing myself was to always dress in black. Less blood showed that way.

Once that task was complete, I layered on my usual eyeliner and red lipstick but made sure they were darker than usual, giving my face a seductively sinister appeal.

With that, I gathered my supplies, including the intel I’d gathered on Jonathan Ross, and headed out into the night.

Jonathan Ross and his “urges” wouldn’t know what hit him once I was finished.

Jonathan lived in a modest two-bedroom home. Before his sentencing, he was a husband and father. Once his wife knew what he’d done, he was left with nothing. After the death of his father, he received enough to attempt to start over, hoping to win back his family. Once he was free, he was slapped with a restraining order so he wouldn’t be able to go near his ex-wife or daughter.

He was the perfect target.

Waiting for him to get home from work, I bided my time patiently, preparing myself for what was to come.

When headlights shone through my car windows, I knew it was time. Slinking through the dead of night, I came up behind him, playing the same trick my captor had used when kidnapping me: chloroform to the face. With my small stature, though, I needed to adjust accordingly. Once Jonathan was down, I looked around to see if anyone saw and ran back across the street to retrieve my car. On nights like this, I didn’t use my everyday car, not wanting it to stand out. Instead, I drove a nondescript, black Ford with license plates that could not be traced to me but to several shell corporations as a company vehicle.

Once in the drive, I opened my rear drivers-side door and dragged his body to my car. Getting him in the backseat proved to be a difficult task but something I had become accustomed to in the last few years. Making sure to handcuff him so he couldn’t jump out of the car if he woke, I looked him over.

We’ve got him now! my inner darkness crowed.

In the driver’s seat, I made one last attempt at surveying my surroundings. I always made sure there weren’t any witnesses.

Years ago, I was taken by a monster who became my Master. Where once I was a girl who’d loved life and love, I became a slave—first to my Master, then to the darkness. I had learned what real nightmares were made of since the abduction. They weren’t things like the boogeyman that parents told children about to get them to behave. They were monsters disguised as men who preyed on young girls, stealing their innocence like a thief, leaving only blood and pain in their wake. A slave to the inner darkness captivity left behind, I killed the boogeymen.

I was once a delicate doll made of porcelain skin, childhood innocence, and sugary sweetness. I had a boyfriend I thought loved me. Ryan had moved on by the time I’d gotten back to him, and my ordeal made it difficult for him to see me as anything other than a victim. My skin now contained an array of scars from when I was weak, a powerful reminder never to be that girl again. I was dark and dangerous now. You hear about monsters every day, but I was the real threat, the real monster. I was your neighbor, I was your friend. I lived in your community, I counseled you. And late at night, when you thought you were safe and nestled snug in your beds, I hunted you. I preyed on you and your weakness.

Men of evil, men of darkness, I come for you so you can never hurt someone like me again.

Letting out a malicious laugh, I drove off into the night, ready for the fun to begin.